The Confession

The unending loop that leads confinement 

That I am eager to get out of it

Yet the time flows slower at the edge of the black hole

Making it tougher to leave 

Becomes overwhelming every single moment you go through the same

But can’t blame the Relativity

I struggle to decide 

If it’s the genuine self of mine or an illusion 

Could be the suppression that flows in the bloodstream 

Or an obsession with the loop itself just to be certain that every single thing remains the same

Fear maybe is what slows the time around the edge 

Keeping me safe from the uncertainty at the end of the hole 

The conflict itself is unending for sure

Becoming robustly consuming 

And I am the one who caused it

a realization hits  like the sudden fall breeze 

Then I begin to think in imaginative ways such that I could not put it into words

And I can’t decide whether it better remain abstract or should it be concrete 

I am afraid of the thought 

That if I become realized I can be the prey 

Maybe the “ghost theory” isn’t sufficient at all

The desire that makes me question myself

Just because this is what people tell you should do

It is just like the space 

It nothing yet everything 

The temporary feeling of revenge 

Is it a instinctive aspiration? 

Or is it just a impulse-response? 

Is it true to wait a consequence 

Like you assume everything is just lined up along a string ? 

I don’t know 

Sometimes I want to cry out

Why the Lord of Probabilities 

Why do you act this way? 

Why have you caused borders 

In any manner

That I and everyone cant overcome? 

What would happen if I die now? 

I know it would not an ambiguity 

I want to change everything 

But also afraid of change

Perhaps it’s again because of him

Flow of the Mind

Steadiness is looking me out from the window

Disguised as a man cycling on the street

Continually 

 It’s the silent room that makes me scared

Of the mute violence 

Or is it the glance seems like a flame thrower

Capable of tiding you up with the harsh chains 

In a small black room where there is no flashlight to look for the black cat ? 

Who makes the decision of the guilty one? 

Mrs. Pretending having a conflict with Mr. Hypocrisy 

About the state of otherness 

When the thunder hits them like a strike of the truth 

To remind them that they lost their vision  in the dark pool of misconceptions 

Leading to a devastation 

Is it the lack of magnetic field or the communicative acts 

That creates the split ?

Far more than the lunar distance 

Struggling to approach 

Or is it just the obsession of mine steers me to jump into wrong conclusions?

Maybe that thought is as volatile as the smell of a malicious villain

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